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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26831533">Good Dog</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahlikeswaffles/pseuds/noahlikeswaffles'>noahlikeswaffles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Cages, Collars, Dark Sherlock Holmes, Dog Fighting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, I don't actually know much about wolves, M/M, Master Sherlock Holmes, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Omega John Watson, Ownership, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protectiveness, Punishment, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Size Difference, Slave John Watson, Submission, Werewolf John Watson, but not in the A/B/O way, he gets softer, like wolves, soft moments</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:22:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26831533</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahlikeswaffles/pseuds/noahlikeswaffles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock uncovers a large underground werewolf fighting ring in London, he can't help but be fascinated by the blond wolf with kind eyes whose obedience he has earned. </p><p>He could always do with company, he supposed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Molly Hooper &amp; John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>284</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. last fight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John's leg ached. In both forms, it throbbed and ached as he lay in his cage, a tick he couldn't itch away. <em>Getting older, huh?</em> the voice in his mind whispered and he grimaced. A life in chains wasn't a long one. John couldn't afford to grow old. Every day his fur began to whiten, grey strands beginning to stand among the golden brush, even in his human fur. </p><p>The worry is what plagued him the most. </p><p>Worry that fueled every fight. </p><p>But tonight was different. It wasn't a snarling competing alpha on the other side when he was shoved into the dirty pit, the humans sneering and laughing and tossing money around. A female, a female who clearly was in heat, with mousy brown fur and teary brown eyes the color of chocolate. She was whining, her back legs shivering as she tucked herself into the corner, whimpering and pleading with them. John's stomach sank, his whole body wishing he could transition. Right now. Human John would know what to do, how to handle this. </p><p>She howled as her body shivered, something leaking through the fur on her back legs to the dusty floor of the pit, and the strangers watching cheered, throwing things at her, at John. </p><p>It wasn't that he hadn't been debased before. </p><p>Tortured, made to transition over and over until he couldn't move, couldn't speak from the exertion of it. </p><p>Tied down, muzzled, made to wear a leash.</p><p><em>Used.</em> His body was not his own.</p><p>But being used himself was not the same as this.</p><p>She looked at him with some horrible cross between throbbing fear, need, and humiliation. She lowered herself, presenting to him, her body shaking in fear as her human prodded her with a long cane from above the pit, head turned, watching her with psychopathic fascination. </p><p>Master gave him a snap and a command.</p><p>"Mount, John!"</p><p>The blonde, in his wolf form, didn't need to be ordered agian, slowly approaching her, head hung low as they sneered, shouting and cheering him on. Telling him exactly what they wanted him to do.</p><p>"Fill 'er up, big guy!"</p><p>"Make it hurt!"</p><p>"We want to hear it, come on,"</p><p>John shuddered and approached her, sniffing at her mildly before circling her, his own mouth tasting of bile and fear. He didn't want this. She didn't want this. He wasn't- this wasn't how these things worked. This was human fantasy. He wouldn't take her like this, in public, ruthlessly. She was a stranger, her scent soft and sweet like clover, but she wasn't in his pack. She reeked of another alpha, of another human. </p><p>
  <em>What have they done to you?</em>
</p><p>He nuzzled at her mouth, lapping at her cheek, the fur tasted like salty human tears. Christ, she's halfway between. How cruel can they be? Suddenly a growl thundered through him- at these people, who thought themselves above them. Thought them inhuman. </p><p>"I'm John," He whispered, pulling at his human form to speak to her, whispering into her ear softly, continuing to gently lick at her face. She whimpered, dropping her head and presenting her neck to him submissively. "I'm John, who are you?"</p><p>"Nobody, I'm nothing please, just get it over with," She hissed, rolling onto her back, as if he hadn't picked up on what they were doing. </p><p>"You're clearly somebody, tell me, please," He nuzzled closer, pressing a paw on her exposed stomach to play dominance for the hungry eyes that watched them from all sides, his breath warm in her ear, "don't let them take your name too," </p><p>"M-Molly," She said, "I'm Molly,"</p><p>"That's a beautiful name," John murmured, he had been a doctor once, before they were discovered, "What's going to happen might hurt, Molly, but if you stay calm, I can make it easier. Can you do that for me, Molly?" </p><p>She looked at him incredulously, what was he- wasn't he, affected by her scent?</p><p>"I'm not an alpha, Molly, but I can give them what they want, but you need to relax, just take deep breaths and it will be over soon," She let out a pained cry as her Master knocked her head with his cane, and John snarled, looking up at the weaselly, greased back man in the suit with pure hatred.</p><p>"Oh look, he's a little gentleman," The human sneered, "Aren't you, Johnny boy?"</p><p>John wanted nothing more to tear out his throat. But he had pressing matters, and he nuzzled at Molly to turn onto her tummy, and he lapped at her cunt, as it was red and inflamed, pulsing beneath his tongue as she cried. Her juices tasted nice, and John's rut was begining, so he hopped atop her, jaws snapping closed around the scruff of her neck. She submitted entirely, but the humans were displeased. </p><p>"He's too soft!"</p><p>"Come on old boy, work for it!"</p><p>"Boring!"</p><p>John did not have it in him to feel insulted by that. </p><p>His own Master, the fair haired man with the cattle rod, shook his head at him. John submitted to Master, of course he did, and it hurt. Damn his own nature. He loved Master, the way all omegas love their Alphas. Protection, care, safety. Master was a bad alpha. He didn't keep John safe at all. </p><p>This was made abundantly clear with the door to the kennels opened again, and a real alpha was suddenly among them, his fur a dark black, his eyes green and wide. His neck was encircled by one of those horrible shock collars, no doubt edging him on with every command. He'd caught Molly's scent, and John's skin was tingling with fear. Mostly for Molly, not for himself. He'd rather die here than shot in the back of the head like a put-down animal. </p><p>He noticed the irony of that, but chose to ignore it. </p><p>He looked up to see Master, whispering something into Molly's Master's ear, laughing and looking at John with something between pity and interest. </p><p>Creatures about to die were usually interesting, John could give him that. </p><p>"Back away," John hissed, dismounted but crowding Molly's space, nudging her down with his back paw and facing his opponent. He kept his teeth unbarred, but his eyes firmly locked on the challenger, "Back away and I won't hurt you,"</p><p>The other wolf was beyond his human form, snarling and yipping, yellowing teeth bared completely at John. The blonde omega's instincts were shouting at him.</p><p>
  <em>Run!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hide!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Submit!</em>
</p><p>But he couldn't do that. Not with Molly here, about to be ripped to shreds by this creature of these monsters making. So John bared his own teeth, growling at blackie, ears flattened to his head. If he was going down, he wasn't going down without a fight.</p><p>"Back away, don't touch her, she's mine,"</p><p>The wolf only yowled, lunging at John with brute strength, and John responded by dodging, circling back and placing a gnarly bite on his back leg, his teeth sinking into flesh, blood coating the inside of his mouth. John hated this moment, every night. Every time he broke, when his vow to do no harm, and his loyalty to his own species fell second to his need to survive, to his own baseness. This was the real torture. This was where they got off.</p><p>Evil is funny like that. </p><p>The young Alpha hissed, sinking his own teeth into John's already mangled shoulder, catching a mouthful of silvery blonde fur as well but John was numb, high on adrenaline and he would protect Molly. She hadn't lost her name. </p><p>This wolf fought for <em>them, </em>not for himself, John told himself. He wasn't mauling another wolf, he was mauling his Master. Ripping his human throat to bits, clawing out his dark black eyes. </p><p>The cheering of the crowd was roaring in his ears, the dirt of the floor clotting in the matted blood of his fur as they wrestled, John on top, then blackie on top, then the other way around until it happened. </p><p>Blackie bit down hard on the scruff of his neck, far too hard. This was not a paralytic, this was a death blow. John couldn't help but notice how well placed it was, well done you, he wanted to quip through the spots on his vision, the taste of copper on his tongue. Molly was screeching, cowered in the corner and John prayed silently for her. </p><p>Please God, let her live.</p><p>His body trembled as he transitioned, which was not a good sign. His body was running out of resources, one last change was not going to help him! But he couldn't help it, his senses dulling, his fur disappearing except the spots on his head and between his legs, with a soft dusting in between. His neck was pulsing blood, and being a jolly good doctor, he placed his hand over the bite, his fingers soaked in his own crimson life as it drained from him.</p><p>It would've been enough to die there, in the pit of hell, in the center of all that was evil. To be a matyr. John didn't mind dying. There wasn't much to living anyways. </p><p>But then there was shouting- angry shouting, scared shouting, humans shouting. Torches flashed about, guns firing, and there were hands on his body, and through the haze, John could see blackie had been shot, clean through his forehead, his green eyes open in a final moment of feral panic. </p><p>Poor sod. </p><p>John blinked, looking up into the eyes of a human, with skin the colour of moonlight, and a halo of dark curls around him, speaking to him, covering his wounds with gloved hands, shouting over the top of his head. </p><p>"I've got you, boy, you're alright,"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. new alpha</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock pondered the creature on his sofa intensely. Removing his collar in order to clean and dress the wound on his nape had revealed a sharp tan line, and his nude form was litered with various scars, clearly from both before his discovery and after. The marks on his hands indicated combat, his human hair cut tight around his ears in a military fashion- clearly self cut, with blunt scissors, indicating personal importance. But his actions in the ring last night, the delicacy he had with Moriarty's female, were doctor-like. </p><p>Army doctor, then. Fascinating. Discovered after being invalided out, perhaps he'd gone unconscious and changed without meaning to. Either way, there was a gap in his history between his human life and the fighting ring. Whether he'd had multiple masters, it wasn't clear. Moran had escaped, no chance to question him, and the marks on his back seemed consistent with one owner's style of whipping, but whether he'd had gentler masters previously was to be determined. </p><p>And now he was on Sherlock's sofa, wearing a t shirt and pants of Sherlock's, asleep. Peaceful. He was beautiful as he slept, Sherlock thought, (objective observation, not sentiment), he looked so young, the wrinkles and the weariness fading into warmth and softness, his soft little nose tucked into the corner of the sofa. He snored too. Softly, though, pleasantly almost.</p><p>Sherlock sighed, throwing his head back in his chair. Werewolves weren't interesting to him, neither the arduous politics associated with them and their, <em>rights.</em> Sherlock wasn't interested in their care, nor their freedom from the illegal fighting rings.</p><p>He liked solving crimes, werewolf fighting was a crime. Nothing to it. </p><p>But something was burning inside his throat at the thought of <em>this werewolf</em> being harmed, or pitted against a creature like that ghastly black alpha. Obviously the doctor could hold his own, he'd held to this point, about nine years of it, it seemed- bit still. The removed collar sat on the table beside his armchair, black leather soft and supple, worn and breaking in places, with a rusted false-silver tag reading <em>john. </em></p><p>John. </p><p>Sherlock liked that name and didn't wish to change it. </p><p>
  <em>"He belongs in hospital, Donovan! Or a veterinarian, perhaps," Sherlock shouted, holding the bleeding male in his lap, hands pressed to the wound that was soon going to prove fatal if Sherlock didn't act quickly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"When have you ever cared about another living being?" Sally quipped, and Sherlock ignored her, calling over an EMT, who shook his head. Humans hurt came first. Sherlock growled but continued to focus on this, thing in his arms. He groaned, eyes fluttering open and Sherlock almost gasped. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>His eyes were Atlantic blue. So dark and cavernous he might fall in and never come out. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It's alright, boy, I've got you," Sherlock murmured, petting his hair softly with his free hand, for some reason he wanted to. Wanted to pet. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>People like petting puppies. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>John had fallen unconscious, but Sherlock finally got the attention of the EMTs, who quickly wrapped a bandage around his neck, Sherlock quickly pocketing the collar they unbuckled. They were markedly ignoring the nonfatal bites down his arms, the claw marks on his back. Typical. Sherlock could treat those at home though. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Home. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When had he decided that he was bringing this one home? Doubtless the others would be taken to a shelter, likely to get put down for their violent natures- and the cost of John's necessary medical care would be too much for the already overrun penitentiary system. That wouldn't do. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I'm taking this one to Baker Street, Dimmock, for further evidenciary support,"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"What? We caught 'em red handed, we don't need further evidence," Dimmock cocked an eyebrow as Sherlock pulled John into his arms, wow he was heavy. Dense. A big fighter in a small package. "Hold on a minute Sherlock, he's gotta go to the pound, you know that, you can't just take 'im for your ruddy experiments,"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sherlock, just a teensy bit insulted at his implication that he couldn't care properly for a pet, huffed and glared like a child. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Experiments, as opposed to what, euthanasia?" I think you'll find that he's going home with me, Inspector,"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Woah, easy, no need to be defensive," Dimmock quirked a smile, "I think you just like this dog, huh?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Please, as if I could be compromised by such sentimentality, good day Inspector,"</em>
</p><hr/><p>Getting John home hadn't been a problem once he explained to the cabbie that John was incapacitated and the risk of him awakening and murdering him while destroying the upholstery was decidedly low, and had settled for transporting him in the boot of the car, which wasn't ideal, but there were air-vents, and he was asleep anyway. </p><p>Not that a slave should mind. </p><p>Sherlock's hands had figeted, wouldn't stop actually, he was nervous. Sherlock Holmes- nervous? As if. Simply heightened senses after the thrill of solving the case, another thread in the spider's web snapped. And a personal favourite pet of the spider himself now in government custody- the little brunette John had been- well, <em>enjoying</em> before the introduction of the other one. </p><p><em>Lucifer. </em>What a pedestrian name for a pet. John was far better, and far less violent looking. Yes, in fact, John looked completely harmless on Sherlock's sofa, childlike in his sleep, when all of those weathering faded away. </p><p>Werewolves in human form were naturally smaller than humans- the government and most people wouldn't call it <em>human</em> form necessarily. A werewolf in that state was still an animal, obviously, and thus was smaller and weaker than the average human. But in their primal states could be deadly, ravenous. John was no different- but on the larger side for a werewolf.</p><p>They made for exotic pets. Something akin to a poisonous snake or a rottweiler. Interactions with them were always messy- like that little affair in Dartmoor last year- ghastly business. Once they got the taste for humans- well, not much could be done it seemed in the eyes of the public. There had been other factors at play- obviously- the psychedelic fear gas had clearly spooked the poor thing, but in the end a bullet to it's brain was the most sensible solution. As was usually the case.</p><p>They weren't humans. </p><p>Sherlock pondered this in conjunction with the snoring beast on his sofa. John looked very human-like, and an attractive one too. Probably went on lots of dates in his school days, pulled at pubs like the rest of the mundane ignorant masses. Took a risk, he did, joining up. Could've lived a perfectly reasonable life in hiding, perhaps never getting caught. The tabloids claimed that they were everywhere, any neighbor or colleague could become a ravenous unthinking human-eating beast at any moment. </p><p>No, poor boy, couldn't resist the danger, the thrill. Now <em>that </em>was fascinating. The real feature of interest in the whole matter. </p><p>Sherlock had to have him it seemed. An adrenaline junkie with a checkered history for a slave was rather <em>Sherlockian, </em>Mycroft would gripe, <em>please just do something normal for once in your life.</em></p><p>Mycroft would secretly be pleased though, Sherlock knew. His own little pet was the second most interesting of the species Sherlock had encountered- older and a lot more mellow than John, and a complete moron like all werewolves are, but the least moronic he had encountered. Mycroft, despite the fate of their childhood dog, was always pushing him to go to auctions, visit a shelter, anything, <em>find a little companion, a bed warmer, it's so much easier Sherlock, really</em>- clearly a ploy to have an extra pair of eyes in his influence watching Sherlock. Couldn't let John fall into enemy hands it seemed. </p><p>Sherlock's heart leapt out of his chest when John began to stir, his nose bumping into the arm rest, sniffing in his sleep. Where does he think he is, Sherlock thought with a sarcastic smile, sleeping on a soft warm bed, wearing human clothes. Heaven compared to that dump of his last cage. </p><p>The Yarders had mocked him mercilessly when he asked to fetch John's personal affects. John didn't have any, obviously, slaves can't own things, and Sherlock's gaps in knowledge (sparse, albeit) were always amusing to the common people. </p><p>Sherlock hadn't visited any shops to purchase supplies. All he had was the collar and, he thought with a strange sparkle down his spine, the riding crop. </p><p>He fingered it in it's place on his left armrest, the leather smooth and fine. He liked it, but he doubted John would, which was rather the point of it's use. This whole pet-owning affair might not be so bad.</p><hr/><p>John awoke slowly, blissfully coming to in the softest bed he'd been in since Afghanistan, surrounded in a luxurious and dark cinnamon scent. He rolled onto his back, blinking twice before he bloted upright, hopping back against the wall, heart thumping loudly in his chest like a freight train. </p><p>"Woah, easy does it, John," Came a posh, baritone voice from across the room and John shuddered, eyes flickering, sniffing furiously (damn his dull human senses), and came to the realization he was in an alpha's territory. A <em>human </em>alpha. What a strange scent combination, indeed. Not so dull and bitter like usual humans- like orange zest, disinfectant and Christmas spices. </p><p>He liked it a lot. </p><p>"John!" He snapped to attention, his name was only used when he was in serious trouble. What had he done? Who was this, where was Master? He looked around frantically. He was in a flat, far away from the warehouse, from his kennel. His confusion was clearly evident as he touched the bandages around his neck. Wasn't he supposed to be dead?</p><p>"You're alright, John, you're safe, now calm down and breathe, <em>now</em>." The human ordered, and John realized he had been hyperventilating, his cheeks were purpleing and he was dizzy with the new scent. He realized he was being dominated, the human was dominating him! So he growled in disobedience, his skin prickling with the need to transition, he could use his fangs and claws and maybe he could win. The human was tall, slouched back in his chair priggishly, like John wasn't a threat. Not a threat, eh? John smiled darkly and felt his teeth beginning to grow, his back beginning to get warmer with fur, and the human only rolled his eyes. </p><p>"John, please, your struggling is pedestrian and frankly, <em>boring</em>,"</p><p>"Who are you?" John snarled, still not prepared to go down without a fight. "Why am I here, where's Molly?"</p><p>"Molly?" The human furrowed his brows and John seethed at his nonchalance. </p><p>"The female, in the ring with me, where is she?"</p><p>"Oh, her. Normal people would call it admirable of you to inquire, but it's positively impertinent. I'll forgive it the once. She's fine, she's in a shelter. Likely to get adopted, though I doubt to be the family pet,"</p><p>John grimaced at the implication being made.</p><p>"Impertinent?" He quipped, hands on his hips.</p><p>"Oh dear, you are sassy, aren't you? That's quaint, and yes, very impertinent." The human stood, his long legs gracefully closing in quickly, John's back flat against the wall as the alpha loomed over him, his eyes never breaking from John's for a moment. </p><p>John shivered and averted his eyes, if only because it was too much to watch them change colour like that- icy blue to green to grey, dominant and swirling with something dark.</p><p>"Good, that's good, eyes down, <em>omega,</em>"</p><p>"You're not an alpha, you're not, you can't be, you're a human!" John whispered as he pressed further, his thigh pressing between John's legs. </p><p>"Very astute, John, I am human, though some might argue that fact," John furrowed his brows incredulously, and Sherlock cocked his head. "But that's irrelevant, I'm your <em>owner</em>, you will submit to me because that's what you're good for, little solider, following my orders and serving my wishes like a good dog."</p><p>"I'm- I'm not a dog," John squeaked, his muscles tensing to the point of snapping under the weight of not submitting. </p><p>"I'm afraid that you are, no use denying it," Sherlock whispered, a hand coming to place on the front of John's neck, into the little divet of his collarbone, pushing just the slightest pressure on his windpipe, sending a wave of dominance down John's nerves, his knees wobbling beneath him. "That's a good boy, John,"</p><p>"But- what- about m-master?"</p><p>"Oh, yes, Moran, he's run off, you're in mu territory now,"</p><p>"He's- gone?"</p><p>"Yes,"</p><p>"You-"</p><p>"Yes, I did,"</p><p>The pieces were fitting together for John. The human alpha had saved his life, and had freed him from his Master.</p><p>"Do I have to- fight?" John whispered, still not submitting. Sherlock rolled his eyes.</p><p>"Of course not. Now listen here and listen carefully. I am Sherlock Holmes, this is 221b Baker Street. You are my property, completely and entirely, so those suicidal ideations have got to stop, as does this piss poor attitude of yours. You will call me Master, or Sir, you will keep me company and service me in all functions you are able. You will accompany me at crime scenes, if only for your sense of smell. You are a slave, but you will be treated fairly here, if you're stupid and attempt to run, the bounty will not be on you, but your corpse, am I clear?"</p><p>"y-yes," John sputtered, turning his head so that his neck was exposed, his fangs receding into his gums. He squeaked as a hard slap came down across his cheek, the sting fading into ache as Sherlock glowered over him.</p><p>"What was that, boy?"</p><p>"Y-yes, Master,"</p><p>There was silence, but John could see that Master was pleased. John bit his lip as Master sashayed back to his arm chair, collapsing into it as if nothing had just happened and pulling out a smart phone, tapping away. He snapped his fingers once, and John's ears rang with memories, his training instinctual as he limped across the sitting room and sank to his knees, his leg sputtering with pain. </p><p>In his heart he knew that he would obey, always. Sherlock had saved him. He had earned John's life in return. He sank to his knees carefully, his left thigh aching with the pressure, so he sat on his heels by his Master's side, head pointed down. He shuddered as a firm hand found it's place on his nape, the pressure both agonizingly painful and pleasant to his submission. </p><p>Perhaps Master wished to condition those synapses to be linked. </p><p>"How quick of a healer are you, John?" Master said, eyes never leaving his phone, thumb brushing across the base of his skull, sending a shiver of appreciation down to his core. </p><p>"Very quick, Sir," Master hmmed a response. "Permission to speak, Master?" John whispered, turning his head back to look up at Sherlock, whose eyes left his phone quickly, analyzing john before nodding, intensely watching his nervousness. </p><p>"How did you know, that I want- wanted that?" Sherlock seemed at a loss, and John quickly added a "sir"</p><p>"You mean your suicidal tendencies?"</p><p>"yes sir,"</p><p>"Written all over you, honestly, child's play. The way you let the other wolf bite you, the way your eyes have darted no less than three times to the various sharp objects in these rooms, the paleness of your cheeks, you aren't eating, even though you win your fights, you don't eat your kill. Coupled with the years of abuse and traumatic nightmares from the war, wasn't a difficult leap."</p><p>John blinked up at him, completely unsure what to say.</p><p>"Amazing," He whispered. "That's- fantastic, sir,"</p><p>"You think so?"</p><p>"Yeah, that's brilliant," Sherlock almost rolled his eyes at the slight dilation of John's pupils, the small opening in his lips. "brilliant, sir, I mean," John corrected himself, nervously licking his lips and watching Sherlock with obvious admiration. </p><p>"You trust easily,"</p><p>"No, no I don't really,"</p><p>"No?"</p><p>"No, I- you've earned it, sir, if you don't mind me remarking so," John blushed.</p><p>Sherlock took a moment, thinking that over, before leaning back, crossing his legs and looking down at his pet with fondness.</p><p>"You'll do, John," He mumbled, running fingers through his soft silvery blond locks, thumbing at his ears, sending the omega into a wiggle and pleased smile, butting his head up against Sherlock's hand. The detective chuckled and continued to pet him, "Yes, you'll do nicely indeed,"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. humans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please note the differences in perspective of what Sherlock thinks of John and what John thinks of himself I did this on purpose I promise</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was around midnight that John realized that Sherlock wasn't going to go to sleep. He just sat there, staring into space, hands steepled under his chin, ignoring John, who still knelt beside him, awaiting orders. John knew better than to whine like an actual dog, or to interrupt, but he was tried. </p><p>Exhausted actually. </p><p>So he shakily stood, barely making it without collapsing from his leg. </p><p>"I didn't say you could get up," </p><p>John immediately slumped back to his knees, cheeks colouring at his transgression. </p><p>"Do I have orders, sir?"</p><p>Sherlock groaned, throwing his head back and waving a hand in the direction of the kitchen. </p><p>"Make some tea, or something,"</p><p>John nodded and immediately stood back up again, finding the ache beginning to numb as he hobbled to the kitchen. Master was a bit of an arse. </p><p>That's the thing about John. Was he cuddly? yes. Soft and warm? for sure. But when push came to shove, John was deadliest of the bunch. </p><p>At least when he had proper motivation. Biting the jugular of the man who'd saved his life, and was his pack leader was not motivation enough it seemed, as he placidly obeyed, flicking the kettle and taking a look around the cramped and untidy mess. </p><p>"Sir?"</p><p>"Hmm,"</p><p>"Sir may I clean up this mess?" He held up a petri dish that was covered in something green and purple and fuzzy. </p><p>Sherlock looked at him as if he were insane.</p><p>"It's an experiment, you'll do well to leave it alone," John hmmed and nodded, shuffling to the cupboard to locate tea and mugs. </p><p>"And I suppose the dirty dishes are an experiment, too?" He quipped as he found the only clean mug in the flat. Master smiled from across the sitting room, genuinely, and John's heart felt inexplicably warm inside of him. </p><p>"Two sugars, no milk,"</p><p>John nodded and made quick work of preparing it before taking it to Master, who was up and about again it seemed, stalking about the room, looking at the pictures he had pasted to the wall. John placed the tea on his side table, eyeing the frayed leather collar that still rested there with a shudder. </p><p>Why wasn't he-</p><p>No, bandages, don't be stupid John.</p><p>"Quiet, please,"</p><p>"Sorry?"</p><p>"You're thinking too loud,"</p><p>John frowned and stood silently, feeling a bit put-upon. </p><p>"Oh come off it, it's not my fault you're an idiot,"</p><p>His frown deepened.</p><p>"Almost all of you lot are, and don't give me that attitude, please,"</p><p>"All of what lot, humans?"</p><p>Sherlock paused, turning a glare over his shoulder at his insolent slave. John only smiled at his little joke. God, the danger kink never stopped did it? </p><p>"Cheeky, John, but yes, them too," Sherlock turned on a dime, "And while we're on the subject, why are you so determined to upset me?"</p><p>"Well it is midnight- do you even sleep?" John scowled, crossing his arms. </p><p>"Doubt you got a lot of sleep in your <em>kennel</em> John, honestly you're so entitled," John winced but held his ground. He might be an omega, but he was not a rug to be walked on. "Do you need to be- tucked in or something?"</p><p>John scoffed, shaking his head.</p><p>"No, thank you for the offer, but I don't know where I'm supposed to sleep, or what my duties are beyond the vague sense of obedience," </p><p>Sherlock looked at him with absolute perplexion, looking him over. </p><p>"My bed, along from the kitchen, feel free to stay in those clothes for now,"</p><p>"Thank you, Master," John said civily, "Do you need anything before I go?"</p><p>"No, sleep, you need it, I should've realized, you can sleep when you like as long it doesn't interfere with cases or any other duties of yours, I can elaborate tomorrow,"</p><p>"Are you coming to bed, sir?"</p><p>"Don't sleep when I'm working,"</p><p>"Right, g'night sir,"</p><p>Sherlock watched from the corner of his eye as John padded off to sleep. Poor thing probably thought he'd gotten away with it too. Sherlock cocked his head sideways and sighed. John needed to be put in his place, that was for sure, but the case took precedence.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. i'm sorry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>John was back in the kennels again, he could taste the dust that coated the floor, clumping in bits of blood and urine. The dust that became sand, hot sand beneath his paws. Murray was just ahead of him, writhing on the ground just beyond the bars of his cage.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Murray?" John shouted, knealing beside him. Murray only whimpered, eyes wide in fear. John looked down and realized he was in the other form, and his words were only snarling barks, like the black wolf with green eyes. Murrays blood was all over his hands, his fur, clotted in his teeth. He realized with horror that he'd done this- he'd snapped again, he'd lost himself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They'd broken him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The kennel door opened.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"What're you doing, boy, get up!" Moran slapped him with the back of his hand, growling into his face, spit just barely gracing his cheeks, "What have you done, you little mutt?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I'm s-sorry" John mumbled, shaking and crying as Moran only grinned, kicking at him with such force he flung forward a few feet in the pit, his stomach exposed as kick upon brutal kick snapped his ribs, his kidneys puncturing and his black wet nose crusted with dried blood. </em>
</p><p>"Wake up!"</p><p>
  <em>"I-I'm sorry!" He cried, shrieking as the cattle rod came back upon him, his libs in atrophy, collapsing once more into the dust, "p-please, m'sorry,"</em>
</p><p>"Wake up now, John, I command it," John sat up straight in the strange room, kicking at his feet and pumping his limbs in self defense, butt of his palm striking his opponents nose. He gulped in air, his skin cold and wet as he fought blindly against the hands that held him to the bed, firm fingers wrapped around his forearms. </p><p>"John! John you're alright, just calm down!" Sherlock snarled, and John only whimpered and struggled. His back was tingling and his fangs were aching as they grew, trembling and trying to stop himself from changing out of fear. He wouldn't do this- he was better than this. For godsake, he was a grown man, crying in his sleep. How weak could he get?</p><p>"<em>Jawn</em>," Came his alpha's voice, half out of relief, half admonishment, "John, you're <em>alright, </em>it was just a dream,"</p><p>"But Murray- I- he-"</p><p>"Hush, John, didn't I just tell you it was a dream?!" John shuddered in embarrassment and looked up at the frenzied blue eyes that pierced his soul, the raggedly breathing human watching him, cataloging him. </p><p>"Sir- I-" John's voice broke off, his eyes welling up with tears again, his chest aching with sorrow. Sorrow for what? What was wrong with him?</p><p>"Deep breaths, John, calm down," The human commanded, his voice lacking the sharpness he'd clearly intended, Master clenched his eyes shut and John realized that he'd migrated onto Sherlock's lap, his arms cradled about his neck like a toddler. The old John would've recoiled, but broken John only sobbed, tucking his nose into Master's shirt and taking in deep gulps of his scent- warmth and cinnamon and a bit of tobacco that tingled at his spine. Sherlock only shushed him, rubbing firm circles on his back through the t-shirt, making soothing sounds that were both extremely patronizing and extremely comforting in equal measure.</p><p>"You gave me a fright John," Master said at last, tucking a loose strand of golden hair behind his ear with gentle fingers, caressing along the shell of John's ear.</p><p>"Gave <em>you </em>a fright, eh?" John cracked, face still tucked into Sherlock's armpit, his body wracked with tremors he couldn't stop. He could feel Sherlock's smile, and the human only chuckled, placing a large hand across his nape firmly- god how John loved when he did that. </p><p>"There's my John," Sherlock said with such kindness that John found himself giggling, clenching his arms tighter around his Master's neck before unconsciously lapping at the side of his face. He flushed crimson with embarrassment, quickly attempting to pull away in shame. </p><p>"No, that's alright, that's a good boy," Sherlock held him tighter, pressing a kiss to his forehead. John wouldn't deny that he really really enjoyed it when Master praised him. </p><p>"I-I-I'm sorry about the dream, sir," He mumbled, "I'm sorry I'm..." </p><p>"Sorry that you are what, John?" Sherlock countered seriously and John felt his eyes blurring again, barely whispering his reply.</p><p>"broken. Just a broken dog," Sherlock paled and glanced down at the limp body in his arms, analyzing how John's soft skin was wrinkled with worry, and fear and shame. </p><p>"You're my pet, John, and I forbid you from speaking this of yourself," John only nodded meekly, eyes downcast. Sherlock's stomach churned with worry for his pet. He awkardly pushed himself backwards, pulling John to lay across his lap, the head of blonde locks a warm weight on his thigh. "You're not too broken to be unfixable, John, you'll see," Sherlock said with firm belief, fingers carding through John's hair. </p><p>"Master?"</p><p>"Yes, John?"</p><p>"I'm- sorry about, earlier, when I- was disrespectful."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"Yeah- I- you're my owner, I should've been more obedient, sometimes I just- I sass without thinking otherwise of it," John paused, shifting in Sherlock's lap, "I owe you respect,"</p><p>Sherlock pondered this as he massaged at John's scalp mindlessly. "I ought to show you more respect, too," He said after a long silence, only to find that John was softly snoring, his eyes closed softly and his skin flushed with warmth. Sherlock could only smile and arch his back ever so slowly as to not wake John, his back adjusting against the headboard. He placed a solid hand on the bandages of John's neck, knowing how John liked it. </p><p>"Sleep, John,"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. introductions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John awoke slowly, sniffing deeply and tracing every scent. Sweat, cotton, hints of silk, human musk, moisture, cinnamon, and just a whiff of tea leaves filtered in as he groggily lifted his eyelids. He stretched his limbs, his left shoulder's throbbing dulled and almost unnoticeable. He yawned, and with a heart sinking dread, his tongue traced along his teeth- sharp, canine teeth. He bolted upwards, scrambling with the sheets and finding his way to the floor with a <em>thump. </em>He stood up on four paws, worry pumping through his veins. Master hadn't told him to change- oh god, oh god, he closed his eyes and tried to transition- but his focus was frayed with fear and he was only upsetting his wolf more. Christ. He whimpered and tucked himself beneath the bed, backing into the corner with his nose pressed to the wall. Come on John, it's not that hard, <em>control</em> yourself. </p><p>He used to be able to control it- one a moon cycle at the most, he would wake up like this- but before Afghanistan he could turn it off and on like a switch. </p><p>Just another piece of him that was broken. Another step further from his humanity. </p><p>"<em>You are nothing, do you understand? Do you understand? You disgusting mangy beast, you're a monster," </em></p><p>He grimaced and clenched his eyes shut. Sometimes, sometimes the bad dreams didn't only happen at night, and he really didn't want to have one of these right now. He needed to calm. down. Then he could change. Then he would be okay. </p><p>Then he could hear Master's feet, the floor creaking beneath his shoes as he stepped along the corridor. Oh God, Master was coming <em>here. He's going to find me, he's going to find me, he's going to hurt me. </em></p><p>"John? Are you up yet, John?"</p><p>John watched in horror the hem of Sherlock's dressing gown from his place on the floor, his soft pointy ears tucked down around his face, turning and pressing his nose back into the wall. <em>Oh god, he can't see me, he can't see me, I'm alright. </em></p><p>"John? What's the matter?" Sherlock said louder, and John only shivered. <em>Stop moving or he'll hear you!</em></p><p>"<em>Why</em> are you under the bed, John? I allowed you to use it," Sherlock said with confusion, and John could feel his exasperated sigh. "What is the <em>matter</em>, John?" Master growled frustratedly, and John not so successfully bit back a whimper. He watched in shame as Master drop to his knees, black slacks and elbows visible as he ducked his head under the bed. </p><p>"Oh," Sherlock breathed, his face a picture of bemused understanding, "I see,"</p><p>John could only whine pathetically. Sherlock only sighed, patting his knee.</p><p>"Come out from under there, John,"</p><p>John shook his head firmly, crawling deeper into his little cave.</p><p>"Five,"</p><p>John's eyes widened and his tail tucked tighter between his folded legs in humiliation. He was being counted down to- like a child. An idiotic little child who needed help for everything. </p><p>"Four,"</p><p>John made a warning bark, trying to clearly say <em>no! </em></p><p>"Three, John, and I would warn you not to test me,"</p><p>John was silent, his fur standing on edge. </p><p>"Two,"</p><p>John relented, barking a bit softer in concession and slowly, very slowly, ducking his head down and crawling out from beneath the mattress, ears back and fangs exposed. He winced, yelping and lunging to snap when he felt Master touch him, cowering in anticipation of the blows. But none came. Only Master's hand gripping him by the scruff, holding him in atrophy. </p><p>"<em>Bad dog</em>, John," Sherlock scowled, "I told you to come out, and you did not,"</p><p>John whimpered, resigned to his punishment. He deserved it, didn't he? He was like a child wetting the bed- no self control, no sense of dignity. He was a <em>dog</em>. And a bad one. </p><p><em>I'm sorry</em> he tried to say, but his words were just too far beyond where he could stretch at the moment, and he hung his head in shame. </p><p>"I know you're sorry, but next time, do as I ask. How can I trust you to assist me if I cannot rely upon you to obey, hmm?" Sherlock said with a little less bite, his hands unconsciously petting at John's velvety ears and the fur of his shoulders and chest. John grumbled in appreciation of the rubs, butting himself up next to Sherlock. The human broke character, laughing and stroking John more. John's powerful tail thumped against Sherlock with happiness.</p><p>"So- are you- <em>can </em>you change back? At the moment?"</p><p>John shook his head. </p><p>"Alright, that's a good boy, yes, answering me is good," Sherlock continued his rubs across John's back, his tense muscles melting. "Did you do this on purpose?"</p><p>John shook his head adamantly, turning and looking to Sherlock with pleading, he hated to say it, puppy eyes. </p><p>"Oh I see, you don't like this do you?"</p><p>John shook his head again, sitting down at Sherlock's knees and flopping his head into Sherlock's lap. The human hmmed, placing his hand back into John's fur. </p><p>"Well, I don't mind. In fact, I may need you to be wolf John sometimes, for The Work. But only for that. I don't mind human John either," Sherlock said with uncharacteristic affection, "even if he's a bit conceited,"</p><p>John gave Sherlock a look that clearly said "<em>Me? Conceited?"</em></p><p>Sherlock chuckled, "Alright, alright, I get it. Big bad human Sherlock, I know. But I'm not so bad, am I?"</p><p>John sat up and licked a solid stripe across Sherlock's cheek, tongue hanging from his mouth in a smile, his tail thumping on the floor with increasing speed. Sherlock wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. </p><p>"Ugh, John, gross," but the werewolf didn't mind, lolling his tongue and slurping a stream of kisses to his Alpha's chin and ears. </p><p><em>No,</em> <em> you're not so bad. </em></p>
<hr/><p>wolf John had claimed the second arm chair as <em>his </em>it seemed, curled up inside of it- barely fitting, with his tail hanging over the side and brushing the dusty floor. His head was tucked on his arms as he watched Sherlock work, tacking up pictures of horrifically murdered humans and wolves to the far wall. John swallowed as a few familiar faces loomed back at him, sighing with boredom. John's ears perked up when he heard footsteps up the staircase, soft pattering feet- this person couldn't be more than ten stone- and Sherlock didn't seem to notice.</p><p>John gave him a warning bark, to which Master only grumbled.</p><p>"Hello, dearie- Oh my! Who's this?!" John lifted his head from his paws, shifting in his chair to look at the sweet elderly woman in the doorway and jumping down to greet her. He sniffed suspiciously at the air- perfume, biscuits, powder, and- something rather strong and herbal he hadn't smelt since he was hanging out in hotboxed Volvos in his sixth form. </p><p>"Ah, yes, Mrs. Hudson, John, John, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said indifferently, still examining the wall. John approached her, clearly she was no threat, and immediately nuzzled at her soft velvety hand, lapping kisses in greeting. </p><p>"Oh! My, he's a handsome little fella," She smiled, leaning over, grimacing a bit with her hip, but finding her way to his level. He panted and licked at her cheeks gently, careful not to hurt her as she ruffled his fur. "He's rather big, what's his breed?"</p><p>"Canine lycanthropus" Sherlock said with bite and John grimaced internally, waiting for her to run away. But she didn't, in fact her hands never left, gently caressing the silvery yellow fur of his cheeks. John really did love being petted. </p><p>"Oh, dear, you poor thing," She said softly, pressing a delicate kiss to his forehead, "good on you to look after him, Sherlock, he looks as if he's had a bit of a tough start," She gently inspected his bandages and the snarly scar of his shoulder.</p><p>Sherlock hmmed. </p><p>"Oh yes, he's a very good boy, isn't he?" She smiled, "you're very welcome in my flat if you behave yourself."</p><p>John hated being talked down to, but with this human he didn't mind. He gave her what he hoped was the equivalent of a polite smile before sitting back down and watching as she scampered off into Sherlock's kitchen. John- still a bit hesitant to explore his limitations in this new place- cautiously followed, sniffing at the ground, the cupboards, the strange stains and spills he'd missed in his first expedition here. Human blood, intestine, arsenic, C4- and was that jam?</p><p>He furrowed his brows and looked back at his human, who wordlessly met his gaze (which was freaky, how did he do that?)</p><p>"No John, I'm not a serial killer," John hadn't thought he was, but was likewise reassured. </p><p>"You really aught to clean up a bit with a pup about, Sherlock, you wouldn't want him to eat something bad,"</p><p>John shot Sherlock a second curious look, this time with a hint of sarcasm, to which Sherlock only smirked. How stupid did she make him for? John's shoulders slumped and his tail thwacked the ground as he thought. Sherlock rolled his eyes and tucked on his scarf, pulling that coat with a swish as he tapped at his mobile phone- his smile illuminated by a blue glow that made him look- rather scary actually. </p><p>"Good news Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson called as she attempted to clean the kitchen bench. John sat with a neutral look between them, tail swishing on the wooden floor. </p><p>"Oh, excellent news, Mrs. H," Sherlock grinned before glancing back at John and sighing, sitting down his armchair with a slump and patting his leg. John gave him a curious look before trotting over, plopping himself between his spread knees, earning himself a scratch behind his ears, "Good boy," Sherlock unlooped the bandages from John's neck, revealing a clean, healing bite planted right at the nape of his neck. Master grinned, a rather comical sight form John's viewpoint from the floor, and John's tail began to wag in pride. Sherlock gave him an aloof look before fastening the black leather strap around his neck, buckling it rather loose around his still healing neck. John's chest tightened as it clasped, his teeth grit in his mouth. He didn't like the collar. Too many memories of it's bite against his windpipe, it's symbolism.</p><p>"Oh don't look so put-upon, dog, we've got work to do," Sherlock admonished, clipping a leather lead to the D-ring of John's collar and stand, tugging a rather gloomy John with him. </p><p>"Oh, a case dearie?!" Hudson grinned, clapping her hands together. </p><p>"New lead on an old case," Sherlock smiled, giving John a sideways glance. The werewolf only scrunched his face, unsure about this whole thing. Was this a trick? Was this a test? Was Master going to fight him? Had he lied? Why had John trusted him?! </p><p>"Come along John!" Sherlock whined, tugging on John's lead, and the dog was forced forward, his paws skidding on the ground as Master led them down the stairs, the door to the outside world opening with a flurry of smells. An overwhelmed and frightened John tucked his muzzle into the fabric of Master's trouser calves, sniffing the air gently before turning back to watch the busy street. A black cab pulled up to the kerb and John's nostrils filled with the smells of petrol and rubber and grease, following Master to the back of the car.</p><p>Sherlock clicked open the boot and gave John a no nonsense glare. The hound shook his head and stepped backwards, and Sherlock growled, pointing into the small dark cramped space. Nope. Nope nope nope. John's shoulder ached as he remembered his cage, dark and small and lonely and his heart raced, the fur on his back standing up in defense.</p><p>"Up and in, John," John snarled dissent, but Master's eyes didn't budge. Damn him! John shuddered and yowled, averting his eyes, but being purposefully slow in approach to the boot, tail between his legs and his paws cold on the rough stone street. His eyes pleaded with Sherlock. How did he know that they were actually going on a case? What if his new Alpha was going to sell him? Or fight him? Or worse? Sherlock groaned and grasped John by his collar, man-handling him up inside of it. </p><p>"John, you need to stop being so <em>obstinate</em>" Sherlock scolded, swatting at John's sensitive wet nose. The frightened and cornered omega yipped and tucked himself into the boot, not liking this at all, his teeth bared and his wolf almost entirely at the wheel. The bootlit closed and John was in complete darkness, his paws unsteady as the cab pulled away. He whined, covering his eyes with his paws and crying. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. freak</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Nope, nope." Sally shouted, stomping over to where Sherlock was tugging John up the pavement. John sniffed at her, a rush of artificial perfume, which was horrific on his nose, and a strong wiff of men's deodorant. Her forcefulness put John into defense, stepping one paw in front of Sherlock to growl at her, "Chance enough letting you in here, no way in hell <em>it's</em> coming too," She scowled, eyes looking over John with distaste, and the omega's ears turned down. She wasn't wrong. He was a monster. </p><p>"I'm sorry, Sally, Gregson invited me," Sherlock spoke slowly and firmly and it was scaring John how serious he looked. </p><p>"Yeah well, nobody invited your freak pet," Sally fingered the can of mace on her hip absent-mindedly, but the gesture didn't go over John's head. Neither Sherlock's, apparently. </p><p>"If you so much as touch a hair on John's body, Donovan, you might find yourself a suspect in a rather horrific murder, and you know me," Sherlock grinned darkly, trailing off into a stage whisper, "it'll be open and shut,"</p><p>"You- you-" Sally's cheeks coloured and she looked between them both with pure hatred, "you <em>psychopath</em>,"</p><p>"High-functioning sociopath, Ms. Donovan, have a nice day," Sherlock stepped around the venomous woman and John blinked at her, then at his Master. Shit, that was- intense. </p><p>"Heel, John," Came the command, a tug on his collar so John rushed to stay at Sherlock's heels, his back rubbing against Master's coat, his nose hunched closer to the ground as they crossed under the yellow tape. Master held it up for John to trot under, and the yellow dog smiled to himself, his tail swishing with joy. He couldn't smell a single other dog for blocks, not even a stray cat to bother him. Master hadn't lied. </p><p>John tugged on his leash, excitedly pulling out in front of Sherlock as they approached the abandoned house, dodging between crime scene techs and forensics people, the strong acrid smell of latex and polyester not enough to cover the strong aura of a corpse. Human flesh was very specific. John's heart was racing, his mind struggling to stay in the moment at it's familiar notes. </p><p>He could just barely feel the Afghan sun in his fur and dust on his tongue when Master shouted, yanking his leash back harshly. John yelped, skittering off his paws and barely stopping himself from collapsing against the base of the stairs. He looked up quickly to see a glowering Master above him, so he hung his head and sat, tail flicking on the ground impatiently. </p><p>He'd caught the scent right? That's why they were here wasn't it? A crime scene!</p><p>"<em>No</em>, John, bad." Master scolded, flicking his nose and John whined. The dehumanizing gesture was followed by a stern glare, Master kneeling down to his level. John cautiously licked Sherlock's chin to show submission, his owner groaned and pushed him away, "Again! Gross!" </p><p>Master grumbled, pulling four disposable blue shoe covers from a table of PPE, and John felt an excited twinge in his chest. A flashback to the good days when he was just a person, a doctor, and nobody but his sister knew he was a monster. Oh God, Harry. John was dazed by his thoughts and didn't notice that Sherlock had wrapped all of his paws in the plastic coverings, tying them three times over to fit his small feet. </p><p>Finally Master pulled him to the stairs, and John grimaced at the slippery fabric beneath his sensitive paw pads, taking each step gingerly. When they finally reached the top, he was panting in exertion, the scent so strong now it was beginning to turn his stomach. </p><p>"Now John, I need you to remember the scents you find here, alright, as well as anything you can deduce about the victim," Sherlock said with a bit more kindness, and a few people stared, not knowing that John wasn't just a regular dog and could actually understand him. </p><p>John wagged his tail and barked, his face calm and serious and Sherlock nodded before pushing open the door to the victim, a woman in a bright pink dress and pink shoes sprawled on her tummy. John felt a wave of sadness, whimpering to himself as he sniffed the floor, the air, her feet, her clothes, everywhere, careful to keep his distance as to not contaminate anything with his breath. </p><p>No alcohol on her, as far as John could tell, she'd clearly been asphyxiated. Been in on a train, too, that stuffy train smell he knew anywhere. She also had strawberries in her shampoo, and cherry blossom lotion on her hands. Her vomit did put rather an acrid spin on it though, as well as the beginnings of rotting flesh. </p><p>"Oi! What're you doing?!" Anderson screetched as he stomped into the room, and John yelped, once again moving to protect Sherlock, teeth bared. His paws were unsteady in his booties and with a disgraceful grunt he slipped off his feet, clobbering to the floor. Oof. He shook his head and shakily climbed back up as Anderson glared at him and Sherlock chuckled. Oh yeah, laugh it up. John shot him a look over his shoulder that said clearly <em>fuck you. </em></p><p>"We're investigating,"</p><p>"This isn't your crime scene,"</p><p>"I was invited,"</p><p>"Isn't one freak enough?" Anderson spat John's direction. The insult felt like ice on his skin, his heart thumping with embarrassment. "If he gets a taste of humans...."John sat back and began to nibble at his paw, teeth baring into the fur, the skin and it hurt. He was a monster. He was a monster. He was freak.</p><p>"John has control. Besides the corpse is too rotten," </p><p>"Oh isn't that reassuring," Anderson scowled, "Tell me, is it still bestiality if he's half human?"</p><p>"Go to hell, Anderson and stop talking. John and I have everything we need here."</p><p>"Oh yeah! Leave now that you've contaminated the scene!"</p><p>John despondently trotted along beside Sherlock as they left, peeling the protective shoe things off his own paws when they reached outside, Sherlock barely stopping to wait as John tore them off with his teeth. They glinted and shone in the golden hour light, and the wolf didn't even flinch when the constable gaurding the scene gasped. His teeth scared him too. </p><p>"We're going to the flat to get you some clothes," Sherlock announced as he wrapped the leather of John's leash around his gloved hand, reaching up with the other to hail a taxi. </p><p>John didn't say anything.</p><p>The taxi ride was long. John lay on the ground at Sherlock's feet, and tried not to feel guilty when the cabbie said he'd need extra to have John in the car. But "dog" was better than "monster". </p><p>It was strange, the Pavlovian response he had to his own existence when he was like this. His neurology was barely on par as it was after the war. But years of beatings, years of muzzling, years of fighting- being a wolf meant being in pain. Hurt. Fear. He'd once thought that if he was discovered he'd transition fully and retire to the woods somewhere, maybe find a pack of unknowing fullbreeds and live like this- he used to think maybe he'd feel accepted. Maybe finally feel fixed. Being part of a real pack, hunting and being free and living in nature. </p><p>But he was far too gone for that now. Now that he was damaged, now that every minute he spent like this was half on edge, waiting for the next blow to come. Besides he doubted he could stay in either form longer than a few weeks before a panic attack or nightmare took him over. No, he decided now that if this thing here with Sherlock didn't work out, this was it. No use in keeping around old dogs.</p><p>He'd outlived even his own expectations when he was in the ring. His cursed medical knowledge and combat training, used against him, keeping him alive, giving him hope. If he just won this next fight, if he just killed one more, if he betrayed his own species enough his Old Master would retire him. There were whispers in the kennel that Old Master had kept a dog once as a pet. A bedwarming, enslaved, raped and abused pet. </p><p>To the fighters, that seemed like heaven. </p><p>The fur on his back stood up at the realization that he had that now, and they didn't. New Master was right, the rest of them were destined to be put down. </p><p>Survivors Guilt, his brain supplied, and he growled into the floor of the taxi, pressing his soft black nose to the rough carpeting of the floor. Lots of smells for him to distract himself with. Stale urine, vomit, beer, <em>semen.</em> Disgusting, he lifted himself quickly and sat up, his head near Sherlock's knee. John had never met a man who dressed so neat. His trousers and suits were stylish and tailored for him, his shoes were Italian leather, his socks were those fancy cashmere kind. He could afford anything, but he still had kept John. </p><p>Strong, fingers smoothed over his mottled back, Sherlock's manicured fingers resting on John's head and scratching in that <em>perfect</em> spot. John's tail thumped against the floor, but it was a pensive, nervous action more than anything. Sherlock never dropped his hand, his eyes watching the city lights go by as night was falling.</p><p>"Sally's an idiot, John, Anderson too, don't mind them," Sherlock said.</p><p><em>"I thought we were all idiots,"</em> John thought, blinking and turning to watch his Master, his blue eyes wide and thoughtful. </p><p>"They see, but they don't observe, in almost all respects. The idea that Scotland Yard hires people like them is abhorrent."</p><p>John smiled to himself as he realized what it was Sherlock was actually saying, dropping his chin onto Sherlock's knee, looking up at him still, making a soft awoo sound. The detective's lips turned upwards into a sad smile at John's cuteness, his eyes soft and meaningful as he pet John's large yellow ears. </p><p>The silence was warm and John closed his eyes, enjoying his Master's hands on his body, his stomach full of butterflies. Adoration and protectiveness of his Alpha. His tail thumped as he remembered all the scents he could from the scene, holding them tight in his grasp so not to forget them. He would be useful, he would make himself useful and then he would earn Master's love. All he needed to do was prove himself. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. pride</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Searching through bins was not what John thought he'd ever have to do again, but he didn't mind really. He clanged around inside, digging through the trash with a bit of excitement. He could smell her belongings, her perfume was here. As well as at least forty other smells that ranged from unpleasant to downright revolting. </p><p>Sherlock was leant against the large green bin, and smiled when the rubbish bags cleared to see a glimmer of pink polyester. </p><p>"Ah, good boy," Sherlock grinned and John's tail thwapped excitedly against the metal insides of the container. The human reached in and pulled forth their find, a pink overnight case, and John was practically glowing with pride. His paws clambered unsteadily as he tried to climb out, letting out a grunt when he was knocked back into the mucky rubbish. </p><p>Sherlock was a bit distracted, but hopped back to focus and groaned, reaching down and grabbing John by the back of his collar, and tugging upwards. Christ, that was a feat of strength if he'd ever seen one, thought John as he was lowered to the ground of the skip. </p><p>John couldn't help but make an excited lap around Sherlock's legs before sniffing the case reverently. He'd done it! He'd helped! They found the case! His whole body wagged with puppy-like energy. God, he'd never felt so happy! Master would be so pleased with him! He let out a celebratory howl, jumping up to kiss Sherlock's chin, to which the detective laughed in agreement. </p><p>"Gah! John, down," The detective's expression went serious but John didn't mind, hopping down onto four paws and rubbing his flank along Sherlock's calf as he carried the suitcase to the kerb. </p><hr/><p>A few hours later, back at the flat, Sherlock was hunched over the kitchen bench again, his laptop casting blue shadows across his cheekbones. John sat curled by the fire, which was warm and so so nice. He closed his eyes and settled his muzzle on his crossed paws, his golden fur shimmering silver in the firelight. His muscles, sore and taught from years in his kennel had soothed and he thought perhaps he'd never been so comfortable. </p><p>His deep blue eyes looked up from the rug and watched his Master with intent, his tail thumping uncontrollably as his heart thumped a bit faster. Master was...not like other people. Not like anyone John had met. He was lean and tall and a bit of a bean pole. But yet, he was strong, like his muscles were laced with steel and his eyes could slice like icy razors. </p><p>"Phone," Came the mumbled, husky voice, and John tensed, his head rising up and ears turning up a bit. </p><p>John blinked, confused before pushing himself up lazily from his paws and trotting to the kitchen, his head turned to the side and his tail swishing behind him. He sniffed at Sherlock's calf, not liking how the scent of the dead woman had clung to the fabric. </p><p>"Phone, John, fetch it for me," Sherlock said absently. </p><p>Did he mean..</p><p>"Jacket,"</p><p>Oh, well, alright. John turned around and scampered to the coat rack, sniffing and nuzzling through the layer of fabric that hung there. He struggled a bit to find the right pocket, but soon he found the cellphone. </p><p>How to carry?</p><p>He hmmfed, pushing up onto two paws, his front claws skittering against the wall in order to fish the phone out in his teeth, being extra gentle. His heart burst with pride to have completed the task, which all at once felt stupid. </p><p>He'd got a phone out of a pocket, he hadn't cured cancer. </p><p>He still couldn't help himself from grinning when he nuzzled Sherlock's calf again, one pale and beautiful hand opening to accept John's present. He very gently dropped it into his fingers, trying not to slobber. </p><p>Sherlock said nothing, only held the phone tight in his hand, eyes still fixed on his work. </p><p>"I need you to send a text."</p><p>John's head turned to the side and he let out an adorable whine. </p><p>"Oh," Sherlock realized, looking down at his own hand with a quirked smile, placing the phone on the bench and wiping John's saliva from his fingers. John's anxiety began to surface again, his back ear itching like crazy. Did Master need him to switch again? He looked down at his paws, felt his canines sharp under his tongue. </p><p>"If you'd like, you can shift, John,"</p><p>"<em>Sorry, Master, please don't be upset, Master,"  </em>John whimpered, eyes wide as he burrowed his nose into the crook of Sherlock's knee. </p><p>"Whenever it happens, you may borrow more clothes of mine. I don't want you naked unless I say specifically,"</p><p>John made a sound of agreement before the context of that statement hit him. <em>Unless I ask specifically</em>. Oh. Right. John had somehow forgotten. My body is Sherlock's, he can have it whenever he wants. </p><p>How could he have let himself slip so easily? Was a belly rub and good sleep all it took for him to forget his training? To forget the horrors of his life? To <em>forgive</em> the humans for what they had done to him? What they had made him into?</p><p>Did he really not mind this degradation anymore? He felt hollow and ashamed when he thought to how affectionate he had been, how desperate for scraps of Sherlock's attention...and after what? A day? Two days? </p><p>His fears began to multiply, his gut wrenched with confusion. Was he a dog now? Was he okay with this now? Was this just the way he wanted things? Submissive and meek? </p><p>He was a snarling, human-eating monster, right? Isn't that what the papers all said? What made Sherlock so special that even the thought of hurting him made John sick? He could easily win that fight, escape, be free again. Sherlock's lack of security was practically begging him to just try...</p><p>Well, he thought for a moment, perhaps that wasn't a guarantee. Sherlock was...very athletic, and far more intelligent. Who knows what secret martial arts move he might pull...</p><p>He looked unsuredly back up at Sherlock, who was typing out a message, before turning and returning to his spot by the fire, not feeling so proud anymore. He fell into a restless sleep and dreamed of war. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. self defense</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>John stood on four paws on the top of a ridge, Afghan sun in his fur, moonlight drifting across the desolate terrain. In the distance, he could see his encampment, could see his comrades sharing a beer over a fire, and he watched with sadness, cursing the full moon which loomed overhead. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Suddenly the earth trembled beneath him, and he yelped, the sand and grass shifting and crumbling, the earth swallowing him up. He ran through the freezing sands of the night, the earth disapearing at all edges. His mates, his pack, he needed to protect them! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>There were explosions suddenly, and John rolled over, now in a slopping muddy trench, tangled up in barbed wire. He crawled on his belly behind Murray's boots, skin tearing and clothes catching on the wire, blood dripping into his eyes. gunfire muted in his ears as if they were filled with cotton. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The images blurred, and John found himself on a road, the night sky bleeding red from each pin-pricked star, each whistle of wind sounded like an alarm. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Murray screamed and John flew backwards, watching as Murray and his leg were seperated, the hot flash of the IED illuminating them in the pitch black, the smell of burning flesh, the screaming. It all was seeping through him. Murray was dead. Murray was dead. He was dead. John heard the sound of enemy shouting. Oh Christ. Oh God, he was going to die, they had guns and he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe and they were going to kill him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The enemy stood over him, and just as the bullet hit his shoulder, John could see glittering blue green eyes and a wicked grin. . .</em>
</p><p>John awoke suddenly, his heart racing, his skin slick and he convulsed, his limbs in atrophy as he struggled to pull himself into conciousness. </p><p>"Sherlock!" He spoke with all his might, helpless in the shock of it all, his back against the rug, head spinning even as he lay still on the floor. The fire had blackened and gone cold, and John could barely stop his shaking long enough to look around and see that the flat was dark and empty. "Sherlock?"</p><p>No answer. </p><p>John whimpered, feeling small and alone and afraid in the darkness, his eyes glancing to the window. It was night time already. He looked down at himself, naked, his tanned human skin still intact, the wounds of war now whitening scars. </p><p>He stood carefully, silently, as if not to give away his position to the empty room, padding quietly on his bare feet to look at the mantle. Stuck to the mirror was a post-it note. </p><p>
  <em>Don't chew on the furniture when I'm gone.-SH</em>
</p><p>John growled, crumpling the note in his fist and leaning against the mantle with heaving breaths. It's just a dream, John, it's just a dream. </p><p>Sherlock being absent when he awoke wasn't something he'd considered, and John shuddered. What a pampered dog he was indeed, to expect Sherlock to help him with his silly nightmares. What a fucking baby. The army doctor shook his head and stood at attention, looking around, hand trembling by his side. He wasn't weak. He wasn't. He didn't <em>need </em>Sherlock at all. </p><p>John carefully limped to the bedroom, using the wall as support when his leg just wouldn't carry him. It was honestly exhausting, the adrenaline emptying from his veins, leaving him cold and shaky. He ignored the jittering of his fingers as he pulled on a t-shirt of Sherlock's, along with pants and jeans that fit too long and a bit tight around around his middle. He rolled up the cuffs and smirked. Wearing human clothes again...it felt...felt like when little kids put on their parents shoes and try to walk around. Ridiculous. Silly. </p><p>Not fooling anyone, freak. John looked to the mirror, seeing that his ears and teeth were still stubbornly unchanged. He closed his eyes and tried keep breathing steady. Staying in limbo like this was extremely damaging, and he needed to calm. the fuck. down. </p><p>Well, it was worth a shot, he thought when he heard banging on the downstairs door. <em>Intruders!</em> His wolf shouted, <em>MUST PROTECT!</em></p><p>He instinctually barked, then horrified with that, he bit down on his own hand to keep the sound inside of him. </p><p>"Open up, police!" </p><p>John growled, the hair on his back sticking up and he bit harder into his palm, sucking at his own blood, forgetful of his fangs. He looked around desperately. If only Alpha were here, he needed to protect Alpha's territory. He quickly grabbed the knife stabbed into the mantle top, holding it close to his chest and running to the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it, holding his ear to the wood and listening closely.  </p><p>The door flew open with a crash and John was eerily calm, danger in his blood, his hands completely steady. Footsteps of three..no four...no <em>five</em> humans were on the stairs and he realized that he'd need to surprise them. Let them get comfy before revealing himself. Then he could protect, Master would be proud of him. </p><p>"The freak's not in, get to work, find that suitcase," He heard the witch herself say, his chest rumbling with an unconscious growl. "Oh and find the mutt, too,"</p><p>John gulped, holding the knife tighter, glancing to the mirror over the sink. His ears were alert, pointed completely up, his teeth bared and glittering with his own blood. He looked...monstrous. </p><p>The doorknob rattled and John kept quiet, taking a few steps back and readying himself, ears flat against his head, knife out in front of himself in defense. </p><p>"It's locked!" She rattled it some more, before letting go of the knob.</p><p>Donovan clearly hadn't done this before, because John almost laughed at how pathetic her first attempt was, barely even hitting the door with her shoulder. But he didn't laugh, because on the second try the wood splintered and the hinges flew open. John snarled, his teeth bared as he lashed out with the knife. </p><p>"OH JESUS!" The poor agent shrieked, leaping backwards and hitting the corridor wall, her face fallen in pure unadulterated horror. "GET BACK!" She cried, reaching for her gun. Armed officers? For a search warrant? John didn't have time to wonder. </p><p>John growled, hissing through his teeth. She was not welcome! She was not allowed in Master's house! </p><p>"Shoot it!" Screamed another officer and Donovan fingered the gun, but John lunged forwards, tackling her at the knees. A shot went off, and John yelped, his canine ear ringing horribly, blood dribbling down his neck.</p><p>
  <em>"Watson get down!"  </em>
</p><p>His body was fully in panic mode, unsure what was real and what wasn't. He pushed her down harder, the gun skittering away, and bit down on the first bit of caramel skin that he saw. </p><p>
  <em>"Fight, you stupid dog, or I'll kill you!"</em>
</p><p>Sally screamed, her calf now gushing with blood, and John didn't let go, his jaws locked. There was shouting, screaming, and John suddenly realized what he had done, letting go instantly, running towards Sherlock's bedroom, leaving Sally screaming on the floor. His stomach dropped when he saw her leg, mangled with his own teeth marks still pulsing. His tongue throbbed with a coppery warmth, her blood in his gums, the bitter drunken syrup of life. </p><p>Then there was a zap of a taser, a flash of pain. John thumped to the floor, his chin hitting the ground with a crack, and then it all went dark. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. punishment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock knew immediately that NSY had broken into his flat. He regarded the busted door lock with a furrowed angry brow and groaned as he burst in. He took the stairs two at a time, swinging around the banister and froze. </p><p>In the center of the sitting room lay a crumpled figure, kneeling in a hogtie, face pressed to the floor in a little pool of pinkish blood that stained the carpet. Sherlock gasped, boiling over in anger at the sight of his pet muzzled and bound on the floor, his clothes torn, bleeding and unconscious. He looked small. </p><p>"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Sherlock bellowed, fighting the urge to throttle Dimmock and Donovan and instead kneeling and pulling John up by his shoulders, the half-shifted werewolf slumped in his arms. The blood was coming from his left ear, and Sherlock's teeth grit when he saw it had been left untreated long enough to crust in his soft feathery fur. He immediately set to untying John. </p><p>"Oi! Don't touch it, we're waiting for animal control." Dimmock shouted, and Sherlock furrowed his brows, looking up and around for the first time at this very illegal search, the pink suitcase open on the coffee table, officers taking photographs of it's contents. Sherlock separated John's bound ankles from his wrists, knowing how much strain it was putting on his shoulder to keep them together like that. </p><p>"You have no right to be in here, and you have no right to damage my property," Sherlock growled.</p><p>"Are you bloody serious? This thing is dangerous, Sherlock, a human killer, you can't just keep it!" </p><p>"Him! I will keep <em>him</em> if I want to, Inspector, now get out of my flat."</p><p>"You're withholding evidence, Sherlock, I have every right to search this flat."</p><p>"You have absolutely no right to hurt John," Sherlock whispered dangerously.</p><p>"He tried to kill one of my officers, Holmes!"</p><p>"He what?" Sherlock said softly, brushing through John's hair, examining his velvety ears. He'd only just got nicked by a bullet, and Sherlock could barely think straight. He should've woken John, should've brought him with him to Northumberland street. Now, now they had every right to put down John, and it was gracious they hadn't already. </p><p>"Donovan could lose her leg, Sherlock, seriously. I keep you in the loop because you solve crimes, but when my officers are put at risk for no reason...it makes it hard to justify,"</p><p>Sherlock set John's limp body back down on the rug, lip pulled between his teeth. When he stood up, John began to stir, searching for the hands that had held him. </p><p>John blinked, his whole world white with pain. His ear, his head, his shoulder. He could barely process it all at once. </p><p>"Master?" He whispered, his dull human nose sniffling hard, trying to follow the sweet aniseed and cinnamon that had filled his scent. "Sherlock?"</p><p>John let out a broken sob when he saw Master's face, knelt close to his, blue green eyes squinted and suspicious. </p><p>"Master! Oh thank God sir, are you alright? Are you okay? Did they hurt you? I tried to fend them off, but they got me..." John tried to speak out for Sherlock, heart sinking to find himself tied up, he shook his head, growling at the muzzle that kept mouth covered with a mesh cage. His eyes widened and he gasped to see more bad guys all circled nearby, one of them with a gun still drawn on him. </p><p>"Master?" He whimpered, looking to Sherlock, who regarded him coldly. Then he remembered what he had done, and his skin almost burnt with the heat of his shame. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt her, please believe me, I didn't- I'm not...."</p><p>"A monster?" Sherlock whispered. </p><p>John's cheeks ran with tears and he closed his eyes in defeat, rolling over , belly exposed, his only way to show his submission to the consequences of his actions. </p><p>"John, why did you do it?"</p><p>"They broke in to your house, Master, I thought- I thought I was protecting you." John sputtered, tears on his skin. </p><p>"Me?"</p><p>"I'm so sorry, I understand if you have to-" John couldn't bring himself to say the words,  "you know, I don't mind," John swallowed, eyes staring up at the ceiling. There was silence, and Sherlock never looked away. Master looked upset. John wanted to curl up and never see him again, never face the shame of this. </p><p>"You're a good boy, Jawn," Sherlock said soflty, brushing John's tears away from his muzzle. "That was scary for you, wasn't it?"</p><p>John only whimpered, shame in his heart.</p><p>"John's under my supervision, Inspector, if you want to pursue any charges for Sally's injuries, you can charge me." </p><p>"That's not how it works!" Dimmock sneered in disbelief.</p><p>"I have a case to solve! He goes right in the kennel, inspector, and then you can have all the evidence you like."</p><p>Dimmock groaned, hands on his hips, before shaking his head and laughing. </p><p>"What the hell is wrong with me? Alright, yeah, fine, go put him away and then we can talk." John could barely catch his breath as Sherlock nodded, quickly untying his arms and legs, unbuckling the muzzle. He made eye contact with John, their faces inches apart, the soft mint of Sherlock's breath cooling on John's hot skin. The taller man suddenly thought better of his decision and kept the muzzle buckled, clipping on John's leash. </p><p>John was about to whine at this treatment in his human form, but his lips snapped shut with one look at a glaring, livid Detective Inspector. </p><p>He pushed himself up onto his knees, shaking at the effort, before finally rising to his feet, ears pressed down to his head, feeling the phantom limb of his tail between his legs as he followed Sherlock up the stairs. He'd never been up here before, and he kept himself close to his Master, fear and relief fighting for control of his nerves. </p><p>Each step sent a pang of heartbreak through him, hiccuping softly to himself. He was bad. Very bad. And Master was not happy with him, at all. </p><p>Sherlock pushed open the door to the third floor bedroom, and John swallowed thickly at the waist-high cage that sat in the center of it. Sherlock didn't say anything as he unclipped John's leash, his face unemotional and solid. John almost laughed at what a mess he looked in comparison, tears on his cheeks, blood in his hair. Once he was untied, John shakily knelt, pushing himself into the small space, his knees grating against the bare mesh floor. Sherlock sighed as he clicked the lock shut. </p><p>"I'm sorry, sir," John whispered, eyes blurry with thick unshed tears. Sherlock knelt down to look at him through the bars, eyes gentle and blue. "I'm a monster," He hung his head, the muzzle tight around his cheeks. </p><p>"You're not a monster, John, you were scared, and you lashed out. It's their fault for being morons and provoking you,"</p><p>"But sir- I shouldn't have bit her-"</p><p>"She deserved it. You thought she was an intruder. You did your job, John. I'm not pleased with what you have done, John, you should've known better, but I'll admit that it was unwise of me to leave you alone in your condition."</p><p>
  <em>Broken, stupid mutt.</em>
</p><p>"Where did you go?" John whimpered, eyes wide. </p><p>"To find our serial killer, John, but alas he didn't show," Sherlock said with a mischievous grin, explaining the text and the pink phone with excitement. </p><p>"You went after a serial killer...alone...without telling anyone?" John titled his head incredulously. </p><p>"Oh you're in no state to chastise <em>me</em>, boy," Sherlock's grin faded and he stood, putting on his gloves. </p><p>"But...sir...what if..." John's mind was racing with what was happening. The pieces were falling together, the final act starting. </p><p>"Oi! Sherlock! Are you done yet? There's a cab here for you!" Dimmock shouted up the staircase and Sherlock paused, features scrunched up. </p><p>"i didn't order a cab," He said mostly to himself, and John's stomach sank when an oddly familiar scent trickled into his nose. </p><p>"The killers here, Sherlock! I can smell him!" John shouted, and Sherlock thwapped the top of his cage with his hand.</p><p>"Quiet, John, you're going to be in there for the rest of the night, you better behave." John clawed at the lock and rattled his cage, knowing with all his heart that Sherlock wasn't safe. </p><p>"Master! Wait!" John shrieked, his heart racing. Screw punishment! Sherlock was being a bloody stupid git and was going to get murdered! </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. escape</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Well, this was a pickle if John had ever been in one. He shifted aggressively in his kennel, pushing it side to side with his weight, maneuvering his hands to the back of his head. His fingers were perfectly steady as he unclipped his muzzle, his heart racing with adrenaline. </p><p>
  <em>Must Protect. </em>
</p><p>He growled at his hands as he struggled to try and reach the lock from the outside. Stupid tiny hands. He rattled the bars with frustration before looking down at the muzzle. It was a bit of a long shot, but he didn't fucking care, trying to reach the prong of the buckle into the lock. </p><p>
  <em>Master's in danger. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Master's in danger. </em>
</p><p>His ears were flat against his head as he jiggled the metal pieces together desperately. Harry had gone through a bit of a delinquent streak when they were teenagers, and he'd picked up a few tricks. He could feel himself shifting and it fucking hurt. Stop it, stop it i just need a few...more...seconds...he gasped as it popped open and he yipped with joy. He pushed the door open with all his might, tumbling out onto the floor in a puddle. He couldn't waste time, shakily standing on his paws, every muscle contracting and pulsing in fear. Sherlock's borrowed clothes were awkward to get himself out of, clawing at the trousers and shirt that engulfed him. Once free, he stood on four paws and howled loudly, instinctually sounding the alarm. </p><p>
  <em>Alpha is in trouble!</em>
</p><p>He hadn't felt so in control of his wolf in <em>years</em>. He bolted to the door, only to find it locked. Fucking Sherlock, the twat! John growled and paced, eyeing the windows. 3 stories up? </p><p>Not like he had a choice!</p><p>He backed up and with barely a second thought he hopped up on an abandoned trunk, propelling himself up and bashing into the window. Shattered glass was the least of his worries as he plummeted, limbs flailing.</p><p>He howled in pain when he collapsed on the top of the bins. Mrs. Hudson shouted something but John didn't have time. He rolled over to the floor of the skip, his entire body aching in pain. Fuck. He put his nose to the ground instantly. </p><p>Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock. </p><p>Nothing, he could smell nothing and his heart was racing. </p><p>"John! What's going on?" Mrs. H had pushed open the back door and wobbled out with concern, gasping to see his bloody ear. </p><p>John barked loudly, <em>Sherlock's in trouble!</em> but knew she didn't understand. </p><p>"is this about Sherlock? Didn't he just run off in a taxi, love?"</p><p>John barked louder and whined, pacing and flicking his tail, before racing into the open door, making a mess of Mrs. H's sitting room, knocking over a lamp and a china vase as he careened towards the front of the house. </p><p>"John! Bad dog!" Mrs. H shouted, grabbing him by his collar with all her strength. John immediately stopped. Let go! He struggled and tugged, he didn't want to hurt her, but she needed to bloody let go of his collar. A disgusting smell joined the mix and John glared as <em>Anderson</em> came down the stairs.</p><p>"Are you alright Miss- oi! It got out! Sir! Sir the wolf's escaped!" </p><p>John said a mental apology to Mrs. Hudson and yanked forward with all his might, the little old lady teetering backwards. Anderson shouted rather rude things at him as he burst through the busted door lock.</p><p>The yellow beast ran into the street. Running at a ferocious speed into the night with a savage focus, howling into the dark. Someone had taken his Master. And they were going to pay.</p>
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